Write your own philosophical essay based on Thoreau's writing style in "Where I Lived, and What I Lived For"

I went to the roof because I wished to live with the knowledge that I'm able to go anywhere or do anything if I so desired and have the legs to get me there or the brain to think it, to face only what confronts me, and see if I can find the ones that hide, and not, as I stalk them, to discover that the most prominent was attatched to the back of my head. I did not yearn to live what life did not give me, it is not my part to live it; nor did I long to snatch any extra years from its pockets, unless the significance of breathing stolen air was compulsory. I wanted to experience personally and see beyond the horizon without losing my side of the skyline, to demand from life the most I am to receive, and condemn it if presented with a secondhand, and, if it displays a sense of generosity, to withdraw to my place with murmurs of gratitude, careful not to disturb any turning hourglass.

Every day I catch the same faces and put up my own like a magician; though some stories do not follow how it is written; like a pebble dropped in water, it is changed but still the same. Like this, we forget who we really are and following a series of I wonder and I would like to be, only finally jumping in the wrong direction, to realize we are not in the right place. The correct lives we did not live returns to its birthplace and we are left staring into the unfamiliar eyes we, in one moment, caught sight of and tried to duplicate into our own. Life first cracks then crumbles, and later wrecked, to be left with shards waiting to be recycled.

To lavish a day, better yet, a week, and more a year or a lifetime as purposefully as clouds, and moving in the direction to where they are meant to be, with much assistance from the breath of invisible forces, to flow so easily. Why fret over the future when an empty stomach beckons for your attention at the now? If a clock ticks, let it tick until time runs out, or much sooner its batteries. If the lights go out, why should we sleep? Let us inhale what is put before us and do with it what we can until we can do no more, but reach for what our hands and fingers are allowed to grasp, and to only miss by a skim will result in nothing and undertake the task at a later day. Life is limited but only to the amount we allow. I consume color with my mouth and taste with my eyes, and when I sleep I find myself back stage and looking from behind those black, black curtains of eyelids, to uncover a scar to another world, and not, when I realize, that I am only in a dream, do what reality prevents. The imagination has always been consistent, more so than material things, and only distinguishable from truth when we challenge it. My intuition tells me that this is where I am, and if I really are rotting alive, let us be the witness of my emotional health, for I think that life permits me only to be me, and you as you are; no other.


I Pinky Promise


It is 11:11 and I have a sense of urgency.

I know you're probably asleep at this time, stolen with a chain on your trust.
I don't understand how such fabrications can lure you so easily, but they got me.
Got me - questioning you.
You don't understand how such honesty can trick me so easily, but they got you.
Got you - questioning me.
I always took the easy way and sat around, but you threatened to take my legs if I didn't follow and my heart if I didn't believe. But I've always had to look up to see you.
They can't take us together, because we'll be too much. So they catch us separately and hang us five feet from the ground. I'm already dead, but they don't know that that doesn't stop you because you're taller than that.

And I pinky promise: I'll kidnap you from this heaven and show you the world I hold in my hands, and together, we'll hide all the things we adore. Because we don't care anymore and we'll run away with happy, uneven steps.

My bed is wicked and tempts me with you.
Five hours. Five hours is all I get.

Now is the time to say good-bye.

It is 11:12 and I have a sense of urgency.


Every Other Line


Here is a wanted ad. Posted on my skin.

Looking for anyone who doesn't mind
cleaning the house, surrounding area and
spending their day with a simplistic
notion without having inclinations like a
needy girl. Previous experience is
insisted however prior education is
not needed to apply. Needs to be patient
when concerning duties and against liberal ideas
and understanding with a complex perception. Friendship
shouldn't be considered and cooperation with other staff
is not required but would be nice. Cloud inspections and
gardening is to be executed in the mornings and children
story telling will be daily. Needs to know how
to act professional with guests and if situation requires
to laugh and always have open arms.
Breaks will take place at noon and 6 sharp for thirty minutes.
Having a degree in being a superhero will
simply be mocked and turned away but acute cooking skills will
instantly get you the job.
For more information &
If interested contact me at: My heart

This assignment was to write a short story in the style of  Brian Andreas.

I'm glad I'm not a spider, she said, because I don't think I'd be patient enough to wait for my food.

What do I have to do? I said & he said, When it turns dark and the stars are out, count them all and tell me in the morning & I said, What if I lose count? & he said, Wait until night and do it again.

When will you stop sleeping with the lights on? she said & I said, When the monsters under my bed tell me they're moving.

Here is a frog who sings when it rains because that is when his voice is appreciated by an audience of none.

finally has realized that she can't find a lost place with a map

Why are the jokers taken out of a lot of card games? he said & I said, because the other cards are afraid they'll win everytime.